Ziva Returns
by sayoung1
Summary: A story about the relationship btw Gibbs and Ziva. I SPOIL EVERYTHING...so don't read this if you are just catching up with the series. THIS IS MATURE LITERATURE! Please review. Thank you.
1. Damn it!

Chapter 1

My hand traces the wood, searching out imperfections – a task I have performed hundreds of times in my life, but this time, the wood brings me no peace. I am thousands of miles away, willing Ziva to come to her senses. I called in some favors to get a fix on her location, some word of her mission, anything … but like a mist she had slipped away.

The team feels the hole that she left. The empty desk only helps make her absence more noticeable, a constant reminder of many things that I wish I could forget. As days stretch to weeks, I make every attempt to fill the hole with patience. I know she thought she was making the right choice and wherever she is now, I hope the choice has not gotten her killed.

I walk away from the wood, wipe my forehead with the back of my hand and lean back against the workbench. I miss her. But a lover who doesn't trust you is no lover at all. A lower part of my anatomy is completely willing to forgive and forget and leaps in my pants to voice its objection to that kind of thinking. But she made her choice. Many years ago I stopped letting the little head do the thinking and I'm not about to let it dictate its demands now.

Instead I focus on making every attempt to fill the absence with a different warm body – one in her desk and a couple different women in my bed. But still she is on my mind.

WEEKS LATER

"Damn it!" I vehemently whisper the swear and then cut loose with a loud stream of curses. I wrecked the second consecutive piece of lumber for a cabinet I am building for a veteran's homeless shelter. After burning off a little steam, I reach into a desk for a bottle of Jack. I dump a small cup that had held wood screws, and pour myself a generous shot. Leaning against my workbench, I take a long sip, slowly swirling the alcohol around in my mouth.

I had seen the look on Dinozzo's face … THE look. After the look, would come defiance and after defiance, things would get dangerous. I had finally accepted that she is gone – not coming back, but DiNozzo is like a dog sniffing a trail that he won't be shaken from, my faithful bloodhound on the scent. He's a damn good investigator. I've forced the team to work extra cases, to find her replacement, but he has the look.

"Damn it!"

Since wood isn't working, I change into running gear and begin a familiar route at a steady pace, trying to empty my mind. I push myself, the muscles in my thighs, abs, and arms flexing in the cool air.

When I finish my run, rounding the corner to my house, I am exhausted and sweaty but mentally clear. And then I see Abby sitting on my steps, her glossy red lips working the straw to get the last few drops of a Caf-Pow. She shifts her focus, peering up from her drink, lips still firmly wrapped around the straw. Her eyes twinkle as she releases the straw from her mouth, lowers the drink, and grins at me. I extend a hand to help her up and to steady her on her ridiculously high platform boots. She talks the entire way into the basement. "I wondered if you were ever coming back you were gone so long. I had time to go and get a Caf-Pow and then waited for another long time. You should really do some more landscaping. ….."

Once inside, she wraps her arms around me in a big hug. "It's Tony," she whispers in my ear.

I pat her back gently. "I know Abbs," I say.


	2. After the Rescue

Chapter 2

Tired. It's been a long day. I hang up my coat and wipe my face with my hands and take a deep breath. And there it is…a faint aroma of perfume … her perfume. Although I can feel my cock twitch in my pants, the big head is saying "No". I remove my shoes and go to the kitchen to pour myself a drink. She hasn't come out of hiding. I know she knows I'm here. The bourbon burns its way down my throat and when I'm done with the drink I've decided I don't want to have this conversation – not now.

On the way to the basement, I notice a hall light … one that shouldn't be on … and I know exactly where she is. Off the den is a very private play room. One that is off limits. She knows the rules – that I have to invite you in because although my front door is not locked, the door to this room is ALWAYS locked. I'm gonna have to change my front door policy.

As I enter the room, there she is naked and kneeling on the floor, eyes down, hands folded in her lap where I can see them. Her hair is in a high ponytail – my preference for when we had been alone in this room. Her clothes are neatly folded on the floor in the corner. She has selected a whip with more bite than bark and placed it in front of her. Why? As I walk around her, I can still make out the scars from where she was beaten. I want to reach out and touch the marks but I don't. She has willfully violated my rules … and … I'm guessing she wants to be punished. All the time she spent in the clutches of that terrorist and it never absolved her. I saw the look in her eyes when we rescued her. She had wanted to die. And then when she had returned, the weeks of anguish waiting for the other shoe to drop, for me to find out what had happened on that ship. I've kept her at arm's length. Made no invitations. But here she is.

As I finish my slow circle, I grab her ponytail and pull her in the direction of the large chair. She scrambles on her knees, crawling as best she can to match my stride. I sit down in the chair and put her head on my knee and stroke her hair and caress her cheek. I've missed this. Beating her is not what she needs right now – she has beaten herself up far too much for the sting of the whip to mean anything more than pain. Force she understands all too well, but tenderness … It takes a few minutes, but then it starts. Her chest heaves and a small strangled cry is barely audible. She is struggling with herself to let it out. I can feel her undoing the tight careful knots that have kept her in check since her return to my team. Then come the tears, slowly at first and then heavier sobbing. I continue to stroke her hair as the tears flow freely down her cheeks. Coughing and sputtering, her tears wet my pant leg. I recall the way she wouldn't look me in the eye, wouldn't tell me the whole story about Michael …. I recall kissing her goodbye at the airport, the emptiness of this room without her. And I try to find my way to forgiveness.


	3. Together

CHAPTER 3

The waves of tears subside. She presses one hand to her chest. It must be hurting. I pull her up onto my lap put her head on my chest and rock her. Still, I don't speak to her. Words wouldn't help. She knows what she did… She had made her choice. SHE had left ME, not the other way around. What had hurt more than anything was that we had trusted each other with our lives, but she hadn't trusted me with the truth about Michael. The shared secrets, the stolen days and nights in my bed– and then Michael and her father and her accusations and then her decision.

I stop rocking and tilt her chin to look into my eyes. There is worry, fear, sadness, pain…and a need. I look deeper … focus harder. I want the truth. I want to know NOW if there is something else she is holding out on me.

She doesn't turn away, barely blinks – but I know she is doing her own searching. I can read her questions just like there is a teleprompter on her forehead.

My hand twitches. I want to caress her. I want to spank her. I want to grab her hair and throw her to the floor and ride her hard. I want to carry her to the bed and gently make love to her.

Damn! I am losing control …too many desires wash over my thoughts but I keep them from showing on my face.

"Bench," I force myself to speak the command in a neutral tone. Quick and graceful she moves, positioning herself. I focus on breathing, reining in everything. I walk over to her and this time…deliberately, I trace the most visible scar, my fingers moving slowly over her skin, identifying exactly the "intense interrogation techniques" that would cause it – where no safe word would be honored. Of course she would not have begged her interrogators to stop – not her. She would have pushed them to beat her to unconsciousness – to beat her to death.

I touch a spot that makes her flinch a little. It must still be painful. I recall Ducky's report. I want to tell her I'm sorry. Sorry for not speaking my mind to influence her decision. Sorry for not coming sooner, for not finding her earlier, for waiting for DiNozzo to shame me in to the rescue plan. Sorry her father used her, sorry that Michael is dead. Sorry for the brutal scars she carries … and sorry for what is going to happen next.

I walk over to the whip on the floor, the one she picked out. It won't do. I replace it on the rack. This time calls for something much more intimate and I don't want to re-open her physical scars. But we have to push through this part to get to the other side.

"Why am I punishing you," I ask, my voice firm as I stride back to her.

She starts, "I should have," but the words catch and stick in her throat. I wonder what she is going to admit to and briefly I question myself about whether or not I truly know what she wants to be punished for. Confessions have never come easy for Ziva. She has been highly trained to keep all information, but especially personal data to herself. Confessing to me, has always been hard for her to do.

Part of me wants to pretend it never happened, but once a punishment is over …. everything is alright again – or at least it had been up til now. I prompt her by cupping her chin in my hand.

I admire her strength when she gathers herself and says clearly, "I should have trusted you. I should have told you everything instead of hiding things from you. I should have listened to you. I should have sent you a message about my mission. I should have come to you."

Sometimes confession is good for the soul. I needed to hear it as much as she needed to say it.


	4. SMACK!

Chapter 4

SMACK! My right palm connects with the fleshy part of her round curvy ass cheek. There is nothing more intimate than old fashioned hand on skin. I can feel the adrenaline coursing through me as the sound bounces off the walls, echoing in my ears. Once again I have to work to control the emotions that push their way to the surface. I've wanted to do this so many times in the last few months. My cock flexes in my pants.

I raise my hand high and look down at her upturned ass. She's shaking. She's had enough. It will take some time … a long time before things can go back to the way they were. I should have anticipated this.

"Bed," I say softly.

She looks up at me without moving. I can see the wheels turning. I kiss her forehead and whisper, "My bed."

She scrambles off the bench and goes. I stay behind to retrieve her clothes, turn off the lights and to think for minute. I give myself a head smack. "What the hell am I doing?" I had told myself this was over …that no matter what, we were done. I never stopped caring about her, wanting her. I give myself another head smack for thinking too hard about something that should be simple. A naked woman that I care for is in my bed – what the hell am I doing making her wait? I take a deep breath and lock the door.

She is under the covers, hair loose. I strip, turn off the lights and climb into bed. She turns, wraps a thigh around my body and puts her head on my chest.

"I missed you," I say and kiss her forehead. Through the darkness her eyes shine as she looks into mine and more than see it, I can feel the sassy smile playing along her lips just before she leans down and kisses me. She has the salty taste of dried tears, and then the sweet taste of grape leaves. Our tongues twist and explore …familiar territory made new from absence. It's true …I have missed kissing this woman – the way she tastes, the silky feel of her lips, the sound of her moan, muffled by our lips and the way her hips sway, letting me know that my mouth is sending sparks right down to her clit.

I press her close to me, careful to avoid the painful places on her back. She slides on top of me, her warm small frame melding easily with my larger one. She is a perfect fit and I make no effort to hide the smile that lets her know how much I have wanted this moment.

Every nerve I have is raw, alive and demanding. The feel of her skin, the weight of her body against mine ignites sparks everywhere she touches … a single caress down my cheek and I'm on fire. I push my head back into the pillow, arching my body against her. I try to be careful as my hands squeeze into her flesh to press her even closer. Her hair slides against my face, so soft, smells so sweet, makes me so hard. As she moves it back, I stare into her eyes. I move my hands to her face and slowly …. very very slowly I pull her face closer. "Mine," I whisper against her lips. Our eyes lock. Every muscle I have is taut … straining with pent up tension … a deep hunger so intense. Tenderly, I pull her mouth to mine and drink her in to my soul. Lips press and shift as tongues glide and twist. Her moans are feral, like a wild animal she howls against my mouth, raw passion. Her fingers press into me clutching tightly. Then she shifts and gently bites into that spot on my neck. I close my eyes, tilt my head to expose my neck even more and groan low in my throat. I'm panting and fuck my mind is spinning. In one quick move I flip her onto to her back and I'm on top of her using my knees to push her thighs apart. She spreads them wide for me. I rub my hand over her mound. She is soaking wet. I bend down as I move lower on the bed. Each of my hands spreads apart the puffy lips to expose her clit and then I flick my tongue over the little button. "More" and "YES" she cries out, hands in my hair, hips pressing upward. I grip her thighs and take her with my mouth, giving her everything that I have wanted to give. Too quickly she is thrashing, yelling Hebrew, coating my face as she bucks hard against me.

After the last tremor, I move up next to her, my hand idly massaging the moist lips of her soft wet pussy. Her breathing slows and her eyes close. I move my hand to place it against her flat stomach and I stare at her in the darkness. It's soft at first, but then her familiar snore reaches its usual level of loud. I smile, pull her body close to mine and fall asleep.


End file.
